For some time now, I have realized that my little boy is a one man wrecking crew destined to end up in the ER with frequent bumps, breaks, bruises, and gashes. Little did I know -- that would start a little sooner than I expected.

Tuesday around 10:30, I get a call from MDO (daycare, for those of you unfamiliar) saying he has tripped and fallen on a stove knob and gashed his head. They thought he needed stitches. I was a little frantic, not because I thought Coy was hurt, but because I didn't know how we'd get him. I was at work and couldn't leave, and I thought Derrick was probably in the same position. I called him, and like the superdad he is, left his store and went to get him. (NOTE: He is also a superhusband because he makes so many sacrifices for me. I am so lucky!!!)

I was convinced that he'd get there, realize they were just overreacting, and he'd get some neosporin, a band-aid, and then get mad at me because it was a complete waste of time.

NOT to be!!!

He called back and said, "Yep. He needs stitches."

"Of course he does," I thought, "because him being okay would be TOO easy!"

So, Derrick set out for SAHRA, but unfortunately, Dr. Bish thought he should go to the ER. She thought it was really too deep and in too bad of an area for them to handle. So, Derrick goes to the ER, where they wrap Coy in a papoose (yeah, he was he happy! Can't you imagine a 2 1/2 year old who is used to be being free and running wild being tied up?), screaming ensues, and they proceed to stitch him up. Derrick tells me Coy wrestled one arm free, and was well on his way to getting out altogether if they had him in there much longer. He also said the nurse holding his head had to take a break after--she was worn out. I bet!

So, 11 stitches later, he's fine and dandy. Doesn't like having his band-aid taken off, but other than that, no problems. He went through it amazingly. I'm pretty proud of the way I handled the whole thing (i.e. I didn't panic or freak out like usual), too.

So, it begins. I wonder just how many more trips like that we'll make over the next 17 - 18 years? I don't even want to think about it. Glad we have the AFLAC accident policy. It will come in pretty handy. Bet they'll wish I didn't have it after we're all done. Oh, well, like they say,

Chicks dig scars!

Recently, I took note of the pictures on the wall at my mom and dad's house. There are a lot of "baby" pictures, especially of Kacie. You know how it is--the first child gets the most pictures taken. But I looked at that little face and couldn't help but get a little sad. She looked so small and sweet. Now she's bigger and has a very smart mouth. She knows way too much for a five year old, and I want to know what happened to my baby. Now, I look at Coy, who's almost two-and-a-half, and I wish I could freeze time. This is such a great age. He's still TOO cute and not so much of a smarty pants, but he's getting close. I look at his pictures and see time passing away again. UGGH! I don't want my babies to grow up. Now I know what my parents felt like. I watched them playing in the backyard this afternoon and I couldn't help but smile. At least for this afternoon--time slowed a bit!